Immortal Flowers
by Bluer Sky
Summary: My take on my favorite Greek legend: Eros and Psyche
1. Prologue

Summary: _And there came a time when Love himself gave up his immortal heart to a mortal woman..._

Disclaimer: I do not, will not, and have not ever owned a Greek Myth. I'm not even Greek..

-----

It was summer of the most fertile year anyone could remember when the third princess was born. She was the daughter of a King and Queen whose names are long forgotten, of a kingdom that no longer exists, for kingdoms only last as long as the next war.

She was named Psyche, meaning "soul", for even when she was an infant, one could see straight into her pure, unblemished soul through her summer-sky eyes.

Psyche grew older. In childhood, she was known as the sweetest, prettiest little girl anyone could ever see (especially compared to her elder sisters, at their gawkish stage of life) and poets raved about the promise of her beauty.

Shortly after her 13th birthday, Psyche had a growth spurt. Her legs grew long, her arms lengthened, her waist shrunk, her entire body stretched out. Unlike her sisters, however, Psyche looked anything but gawkish. This elongation only served to make her appear willowy and charmingly graceful. Already, the poets were flocking to court to take note of her beauty.

Psyche's older sisters were not pleased with this. They were 18 and 16, respectively, and at the height of their own maiden comeliness-which was not by any means paltry- and yet all the focus centered upon their youngest sister, not yet 14. Where were the ballads being sung of _their_ beauty? Of _their _allure, _their_ glamour? Unbeknownst to sweet, trusting, Psyche, her sisters had grown petty and sour over the years.

The years passed by, and Psyche grew into a magnificent beauty. Her charm was spoke of in far-flung lands, and men traveled great many leagues just to glimpse her. The two elder sisters had made successful, lucrative marriages to neighbor kingdoms and resumed their jealousy from a distance. Psyche was 19, and the most beautiful woman on mortal Earth.

Minstrels sowed the legendary beauty of Psyche far and wide through their songs. And these songs, while different, all agreed upon one phrase, one description; _As beautiful as Aphrodite on Earth_. Some even claimed her "surpassing in fairness of the goddesses". Soon the men, Psyche's gathering that was drawn as flies to honey, took up the praise.

All were astounded at the beauty, and paid her homage that is only befitting for a goddess. They replaced in their worship Aphrodite, the heavenly deity, with Psyche, the earthly virgin who was herself more beauty in one sight then one might see in their lives.

Psyche wouldn't be, couldn't be happy about this. No one, much less herself, could replace a goddess. Only bad could possibly come of this.

And so every morning, after rising and her dawn ablutions, Psyche visited the temple of Aphrodite to beg forgiveness for her followers. And she would plead with her worshipers to abandon this insanity, for she wanted none of it.

But it was to no avail, for the men who now adored her openly continued to shower her in praise, and would not be moved from their goddess-worship. And no-one who ever saw Psyche could say they had not a valid reason.

Psyche's beauty was not that of Helen, who drove men to madness, or of Daphne, whose beauty had only ever gotten her unwanted attentions. Psyche's beauty was of the heavens, of the divine spirits beyond mortal reach. And yet, at the same time, it was here, it was touchable, it was...human.

Such was Psyche, with a beauty somewhere between godly and mortal, perhaps on a separate plane of her own.

It was not completely her beauty that caused men to bow at her feet. It was that pure, wonderful, flawless soul shining through those eyes. Those eyes had lightened in color somewhat from childhood, from deep summer sky to the first blue of spring, like the first light after a storm.

Understandably, Aphrodite was not pleased with this. She was a creature not unlike Psyche's older sisters, and could not bear to not be the center of her universe. _She _was the queen of beauty, the goddess of love. And no upstart mortal woman was going to take that away from her.

And so she coldly ignored Psyche's pleads at her temple, seethed with anger at her continued worship, and burned with jealousy at the sight of her beauty.

There is a quote men seem fond of using; "Hell hath no fury like woman scorned". But the fires of Hell are glowing coals besides the jealousy of a goddess.

A/N: That's the prologue. Please don't read without reviewing...

Well, thank you for reading at least...


	2. The Taste of Revenge

Aphrodite lounged on her divan. It was embroidered with thousands of tiny butterflies, roses, doves, and more incongruently-and disturbingly-, raw, bleeding hearts. Those tiny, tiny stitches had taken one hundred captive breeze nymphs years of bleeding fingers to complete, and it was one of the many Aphrodite kept at various parts of her apartments for her leisure. This particular one was in her garden.

The garden was small, but rife with richly perfumed flowers. Around her, large purple lilies-the largest in the land- bloomed. Their heady, intoxicating scent wafted about the body of the goddess, so thick one could almost see where it draped like clothing.

Aphrodite herself was deeply bronzed, and a strategically cut golden robe was placed around her shoulders to remain as alluring as possible while showing the least skin. Her hair was curled and dark and her eyes shadowy and mysterious. Aphrodite was every inch the seductive temptress, and was fully aware of it.

With a lazy smile, she gestured one of the eight nymphs stationed in the garden(one for every point of the compass) over. Soundlessly, the northwest nymph glided over.

"Find that son of mine." she told it languidly. "And summon him to me."

The nymph bowed her head, still wordless, and unfurled six translucent wings from where they rested on her bare back. With a suddenly eager look on her face, she took off.

Aphrodite yawned, seductively, as she did all things. That particular nymph had been one of her less interesting ones, and so had not won the honor of being one of Aphrodite's ladies-in-waiting, or even an handmaiden, for that matter. The goddess wondered briefly if the nymph had been eager to serve her, or simply to escape from the confines of the garden for a while. After a moment's thought, she decided it didn't matter. Either way, her servant had no choice but to deliver her message, and the first part of her plan wold be set.

Aphrodite stretched contentedly on her divan and commanded another nymph to bring her wine. She studied the clear amber of the drink for a while-and smiled a triumphant smile over the rim.

Revenge would be sweet.

-----

In her own garden, Psyche pondered her fate, not knowing that another was doing so in a different, faraway garden. She sighed and laid her cheek against the cold stone of the garden wall. It seemed nowadays that this was the only place to escape from those worshipers of hers.

Psyche had planned the garden herself. The gardeners, whom she had played among since childhood, were the only ones left besides her parents who didn't seem to regard her as some sort of goddess. Even her oldest retainers were acting strangely around her.

The gardeners, however, were the ones she had run to when her elder sisters had pulled some cruel trick on her, or if she had banged her knee on the stones. They would tell her that her sisters were malicious beasts, and while Psyche never believed them-her sisters weren't really that bad, after all-she was gleefully shocked out of her hurt. They would bandage up her wound, and take her on rides on her shoulders, and teach her the art of gardening. Barely anyone else from the castle came down to the remote gardens, so the going-ons there were kept completely secret. The gardeners were like a set of second fathers to Psyche.

They were the ones that suggested a personal garden to seek refuge in when Psyche had complained of her followers trailing her everywhere. That had struck Psyche as a fine idea, and they had gotten to work at once.

The garden was designed to look natural, after the setting of a mountain spring, only that the mountain thyme, laurel, and moss would be replaced with some of Psyche's favorites; Moonflower, Iris, Amaryllis, Chrysanthemum, Cosmos, Alyssum, Portulaca, Snap Dragon, hanging Orchids. Psyche was fond of flowers.

The gardeners had done a beautiful job on her garden, even more so than on the official royal ones. Alyssum skirted the bare edges of the spring and pond the gardeners had somehow managed to create, Portulaca crept along the South wall and filled in corners. Chrysanthemum bloomed boldly in the center, and Moonflower, by contrast, hid shyly in the dips of the rocks on the West side. Snapdragon and Cosmos made defiant fields of color, and the overhanging branches of Magnolia trees in the corners of the South wall bore flowering vines as well as their charming pink blooms.

Psyche was leaning against the smooth gray trunk of one of the magnolias. Her extra-special favorite flowers, lilies, was blooming all over the North wall, where they would get the most sunshine. Psyche relaxed against the tree and breathed in the wonderful, sweet scents. Teag, one of the senior gardeners, had once told her that scent arrangement in a garden was just as important, is not more, than aesthetic design.

_"Flowers are pretty by themselves." Teag told her gruffly. "Where you plant them doesn't make potatoes' worth of difference there. But how it smells is important. Remember that; if a garden's scent is too strong, or too weak, it shows bad judgement on the gardeners' part. A proper gardener should take into account every aspect of a flower, not just it's beauty." _

He had then proceeded to give her a pollen-thick daisy to smell, then another, followed by another and another until Psyche had suffered a sneezing fit. Teag had laughed then, loud and hearty, and explained that that had just proved his point when 9-year old Psyche glared at him. He kept laughing until Psyche simply had to join in.

Psyche sighed. With her mislead worshippers following her everywhere and treating her as a goddess, it was unlikely she would have times like those again. Twirling a stem around her finger idly, she wondered briefly if she would ever find anyone who would love her for who she was, not for whatever beauty she had.

Just then, Kaj, who had taught her how to plant cornflower seeds, poked his head through the door.

"Damaskenos is coming." Kaj informed her. "Just thought you should know."

Psyche stifled a groan. Damaskenos was the worst- the most annoying- of the entire lot. He would never cease to feed her praises, bow at her feet, and would obey her orders, even the most mundane. Once, she had told him to 'stay here', and he had done it faithfully- for the rest of the day, all through the night, and for a good part of the morning until a maid informed Psyche that it was difficult cleaning the floor with him standing there. In fact, the only one of her orders he _wouldn't_ obey was the one to stop worshipping her.

While Kaj started work on the pot of saxifrage he was planning to plant, Psyche rushed to the East wall, covered with flowering ivy. This wall was kept for emergencies-and a good thing it was, too. Psyche had barely managed to squeeze behind the thick growth of vines when Damaskenos barged into the garden.

"Have you seen _Psyche_?" The last word was uttered with a reverence that she didn't like at all.

"No." Kaj glared daggers at Damaskenos, who paid it no heed. Psyche smiled to herself. Kaj always was hostile around strangers.

Damaskenos looked around. "This is a lovely garden." he commented. "It's almost worthy of Psyche."

Kaj deepened with glare, if that was possible. "Almost worthy? What in blazes do you mean by that?"

"I mean," Damaskenos retorted, "That this garden is not quite beautiful enough to reflect the glory of Psyche's loveliness."

Kaj snorted.

Behind the curtain of leaves, Psyche sighed. Damaskenos was so...so...ugh! Only thank goodness that the honeysuckle was sheltering her from view, or she would be the one putting up that yapping, not Kaj.

"It is a nice garden though. But it needs roses."

Kaj looked ready to do murder. He hated anyone criticizing his garden. Psyche kept watching, fascinated. Maybe if Damaskenos continued in this vein, she would be saved a lot of bother in the future...She had to suppress a giggle at the thought.

Kaj, through some miracle, managed to keep his cool. Barely.

"Roses." He sounded slightly strained. Psyche wondered idly if Damaskenos would come out of this completely unharmed. "Why roses."

"Why, roses are in every garden! No garden is complete without a rose." He nodded officiously. Damaskenos, when he wasn't being Psyche's devoted worshiper, was a pompous fool.

"Right." Kaj tried a smile. Behind her ivy, Psyche shuddered. "Yes. Roses. Why...don't you leave. Your _goddess_," he said sardonically, "isn't here."

"Hmm...I've tried everywhere else, though. And I've asked her chamber guards, but they say she isn't in her chambers." Psyche made a mental note to speak to her guards. Wasn't their job to protect her? And what better way than from people like Damaskenos?

"Of course, you must seek out the heavenly beauty and pay her due worship." Kaj commented, getting up.

"Of course!" Damaskenos seemed to have not noticed the heavy sarcasm in his voice. "It is my duty, as Psyche's devoted worshiper, to find her wherever she might be, and bow down to her as is my d-"

While he had been talking, Kaj had maneuvered Damaskenos out of the garden and slammed the door in his face. For a few seconds, there was disgruntled muttering behind the thick plankwood, and then the sound of retreating footsteps, then silence. Kaj opened the door a crack and looked through it.

"Psyche." he said after a moment. "You can come out now. He's gone."

"And thank goodness!" she exclaimed, crawling out of the ivy. "What an ass he is."

Kaj burst out laughing. "Careful," he warned. "If one of your followers heard you talking like that, you might lose your goddess status."

"Good riddance to _that. _You'd think these people would have better things to do with their time." Psyche picked absently at the ground.

"Apparently not." Kaj said gently. "You'll just have to bear with them for now."

Psyche snorted. "That, coming from a man who literally pushed one out the door! Hypocrite."

"Hey." Kaj tried not to smile. "I'm not the goddess, you'll notice." He started to dig a shallow hole in the ground with spade, directly in front of Psyche.

"What are you planting?" Psyche asked.

"White heather."

"Protection from danger."

Kaj smiled and winked at her. "You got it, princess."

Psyche smiled back. Six years earlier, when she was 13 and all this nonsense hadn't started, the gardeners had started her lessons in flower meanings. It had began when Psyche mentioned that her mother's ladies-in-waiting were teaching her how to arrange bouquets. In a flurry of excitement, the gardeners had taken her on a flash tour of the gardens, saying and making her repeat the meanings of every flower on the grounds-and quite a few that weren't.

_"When making a bouquet, you want to keep in mind the message you want to send the receiver. For eternal love and remembrance, for example, you want heliotrope, and immortal flowers."_

_"Immortal flowers? How is that possible?" _

_Another gardener interjected into the conversation. _

_"It's not possible, sweetie. All flowers die with time." _

_Enea shook his head. _

_"They are real, Giles. They're just very rare."_

_"How would you know?"_

_"I've seen one." _

Psyche snapped out of the memory to Kaj's concerned face. She really had to stop daydreaming. It couldn't be healthy to do it so much. She remembered how Kyle had once told her that...

Psyche slapped her cheek to wake herself up.

"Sorry." she apologized to Kaj. "I was daydreaming."

Kaj chuckled. "That's all you seem to do nowadays, isn't it."

Psyche humphed. "Well, it's not like the present is very much interesting." She blushed as she realized what she had just said. Kaj's eyes twinkled.

"Ah." he nodded solemnly. "All those adoring worshipers sure make life dull, eh?"

"No!" Psyche exclaimed. "I didn't mean it like that, it's just that..."

"You would rather be elsewhere." Kaj finished.

Psyche nodded dumbly. Kaj gave a sympathetic sigh and planted another heather. The merciless summer sun beat down on both, forcing a bead of sweat down the gardener's temple. Psyche never sweat, however hot or weary she was. She _glistened. _Psyche leaned back into the sunshine, churning thoughts in her mind, wordless concepts chasing each round and round in her head, making a roaring silence in her ears.

"Why do they do it, though?" Psyche broke the silence.

Kaj didn't look up from his gardening. "Do what?"

"You know. Worship me. Why do they do that? Even the most beautiful courtesan is just a woman."

Kaj carefully laid aside his spade and the remaining white heather. Then he looked up at Psyche. He chose his next words deliberately.

"Psyche...there's a strength...call it divinity, if you will, around you. It makes you seem..._more_ than mortal women, somehow..."

He stopped abruptly and chuckled at Psyche's horrified expression.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to flop at your feet now. Remember, I saw you sobbing your little heart out because you dropped your favorite bracelet into a puddle..."

Still chuckling, Kaj did not quite dodge the thrown sandal, recently removed from a flawless foot by a woman in a temper.

-----

The dragonfly-winged nymph alighted gracefully upon a tree branch. Directly in front of her was a comely youth, a loose clothe around his waist, golden wings sprouting from his back, and a silvery bow and a quiver full of arrows slung on his bare shoulders. Every so often he would pull out an arrow and rub its' metal tip with a cloth, and chuckle heartily. The reason for his amusement was apparent; a village lay below the great tree.

More specifically, there was an artisan's shop directly beneath the basswood. This village was famous for it's crafts and dedication to the arts. The young apprentices, however, seemed much more dedicated to something else.

Every so often, a lovestuck couple would sneak out to steal kisses, or be scorned by the object of their affection. From all of their breasts stuck an arrow, either golden or leaden. The winged youth would survey them as if they were a play put on for his amusement. His handsome features would pucker into a mischievous grin and he would cackle mercilessly at the scorned lovers, which he seemed to enjoy most.

"Eros." the nymph called, making her presence known for the first time.

The youth whirled, cheerfulness fading from his expression. By now he knew all his mother's nymphs by face, and it was a sight he never enjoyed, despite how pretty their looks were.

"What does my mother want now?"

"She summons you to her garden." the nymph replied, deadpan. Her translucent wings rustled softly on her slender back. Her dress was tied loosely at the nape of her neck, and her shoulders were covered as best as possible without getting in way of her wings, showing at least an attempt at modesty, an unusual trait in Aphrodite's servants. Eros wondered briefly how a nymph like her got into Aphrodite's service in the first place. Most of his mother's nymphs were giggly and flirtatious. He sighed.

"Which garden?" Eros asked. His mother had several, preferring them as scenes for her seductions.

"The earthly one. In Athens."

Eros groaned. Aphrodite must be trying to catch the attentions of some handsome shepard or princeling. He would probably be used to forcibly make them fall in love with her. Wonderful. Eros would have to provide another toy for his mother to play with.

There was no use hanging about. The sooner he went, the sooner he could get it over with, and the sooner he could return to his fun, relatively harmless games of genuine love.

"Well?" he gestured to the nymph. "Lead on, nymph."

Her eyes flashed. "My name is Acantha." she muttered, spreading her wings.

Eros didn't hear her, lost in thought. Aphrodite had used his powers on her lovers before, but she preferred using her own charms and Cestus, her magic girdle. He sincerely hoped that it was that instead the alternative, however...

To the north, a girl and a man who was like a father to her walked back to the palace, arguing merrily. In the south, a sullen nymph and sick-at-heart godling flew northeast with preternatural speed. And in the center, like a spider on her web, Aphrodite sipped her wine and smiled.


	3. The Cruelty of a Goddess

A/N at the bottom.

On With the Show!

Disclaimer: I, Bluer Sky, hereby disclaim everything Greek Myth except this fanfic.

-----

"Took you long enough, beloved son."

Eros bowed his head, stared at the ground.

"Sorry mother."

Damn. He was doing it again. Coming face-to-face with his mother never failed to intimidate him. Anytime he had to meet Aphrodite, he just...deflated. Gone was the puckish matchmaker, the mischievous spirit that spread love and heartbreak through the land indiscriminately. In his place was a compliant, obedient shadow of his former self.

The problem, he thought, was that Aphrodite was the exact opposite of himself. Opposite, and stronger. Strong enough to overwhelm him with her exotic power.

Eros looked up at her. Aphrodite. His mother. She looked young enough to be his sister, a friend, a...lover. Much at he hated to think about it, that was one of Aphrodite's greatest powers. No man, looking at her, could _not_ think about...that. No man, except the most powerful gods and the most strong-willed mortals could resist her, if she made the effort. It was a good thing, perhaps, that Aphrodite never had enough brains or ambition to use her mastery for greater purposes than a roll in the hay.

Aphrodite licked her lips suggestively. Eros tensed in spite of himself. Incest this close was not unheard of among the Pantheon, but Eros was strongly opposed to and disgusted by such debauchery. It was, in fact, one of the few things he could find the will to oppose his mother on.

She spoke.

"Eros..." she purred, getting up. She was dressed in a huntress's outfit, short tunic and sleeve-tight shirt underneath for better archery movement. Her hair and complexion was much darker than her usual fair blonde and white skin. Eros could only assume she had a new mortal target.

"Eros...Would you do your mother a favor?"She smiled in that inviting way of hers.

Eros kept himself calm. She was only doing this to provoke him.

"What kind of favor, mother?" He had a feeling he already knew.

She guided him over to the center of her garden. Set into the ground, there was a perfectly clear, round mirror. Aphrodite knelt before it and bent over it, arching her back in a feline way. She blew gently on the glassy surface, spreading her breath like white fog. The white fog spread, even after its' creator stood up. It crossed the surface like an ocean wave, temporarily covering the entire mirror with pure snowy field, than retreated as quickly as it had advanced, revealing a sunny scene in its' wake.

A young girl, maybe 18 or 19, was walking backwards, facing an elderly-looking man. She was clearly laughing at something the man said, showing an animated, mirthful expression. The viewpoint was from far above, how a bird might see them. But even from that distance, Eros could see that the girl was beautiful. Beautiful enough to rival the goddesses, perhaps...

He cast a sideways glance at Aphrodite. Ah. So that was it.

Anger swelled in Eros. He was being used-again!- because of some goddess's jealousy. Never mind that the goddess was his mother-he had lost all adolescent love for his mother a long time ago. What was he supposed to do now? Make her brother fall in love with her? Make her love a bear, perhaps, so that it would rip her apart? No. He would not, he would _not_ let his mother play with love again to her own designs. He would not destroy another innocent to his mother's whims and fantasies. This time, he would stand up to Aphrodite, and refuse her to her face, break away from her for good.

"I want her to fall in love with the most despicable monster alive. And I want you to serve that purpose."

That was said in a hard voice, sharp and cold as folded steel, so different from her usual seductive purr. It beat down Eros's determination of before, and once again cowed his spirit into submission.

"Yes, mother."

Damn. Damn damn damn. Why did it always have to be this way? What power did she hold over him, to make him this way?

She smiled. "Excellent, my son. I knew you would agree. Of course, you couldn't let your mother's honor go undefended, could you?"

_Yes,_ his mind whispered. _Yes, I could._

"No. Of course not, mother."

"I thought as much." The goddess snapped her fingers, and two nymphs appeared from the shadows with trays full of refreshments. She selected a hard biscuit. Nibbling it delicately, she continued.

"I will be staying here, for my personal matters. Do a good job though, won't you? I'll send the nymph when I want a report." She gestured carelessly at the nymph who had fetched Eros before, now holding a silver tray. The nymph's eyes flickered, emotionless.

Eros looked at his mother hard. What personal affairs would she be seeing to, dressed in a huntress's suit? Aphrodite most certainly did not hunt.

"Not one of Artemis's domain, mother."

She put the biscuit back on the tray, amused.

"Is that anger I hear, Eros? Coming from the boy who caused Apollo to chase Daphne? Love transcends _all_ boundaries. You of all people should know this..." She smirked, quirking her eyebrows elegantly.

Love? What did she know of love? All Aphrodite knew was sex, and she counted it love. His mother could never, _ever_ understand love, not like he understood it, almost as if it was his brother, or Eros himself.

"Mother..." He was talking to her with as much courage as he ever had. At least, he was starting to.

Suddenly she was there, with a hand on his arm. Eros blinked. Where had she come from? Her unexpected nearness made him flush.

The goddess regarded him, come-hither eyes slanted slightly upwards with surprise.

"My, my. Where has this idealism come from? It certainly didn't come from me. _I _never had any respect for boundaries. And to think I bore you from my own womb..." Aphrodite paused. "Well, it certainly doesn't matter. My affairs don't effect yours, just as yours don't effect mine. And now, I think you must go complete that mission I gave you."

Eros looked at the ground again to hide his disgruntled expression.

"Yes."

"She lives to the north. Her name is Psyche, a princess of that land, I gather. And-" she spat out the word. "Something _else_ to it too, you'll soon see." Aphrodite glanced over at Eros.

"Make sure it is a _vile _wretch. The absolute worst." Her eyes were blazing. Eros nodded.

She turned away, stepping towards her divan.

"Oh and Eros-" the goddess half-turned towards him. "Have no mercy, my son."

-----

Psyche yawned and stretched lazily in her bed. It was early morning, hours before she used to get up, and she didn't really want to wake right now. With a groan, she forced herself awake and out of bed.

Shedding her silk nightgown, Psyche glanced through her south-facing windows. The sky outside was a dusty blue-gray, and if she looked to her left, she could see an orange glow burning where the sun had yet to rise. She grabbed her seashell pink informal dress and donned it as quickly as she could without her maids. Psyche had only recently started dressing without the help of her maids and was finding it difficult. She could rouse them easily, of course, they slept in adjoining chambers, but she didn't want to wake them at this hour just to help her dress.

When she was done dressing herself, Psyche inspected herself in the copper mirror. A little sloppy, perhaps, but not too bad. She hadn't even mussed up her hair. Psyche suddenly felt an inexplicable rush of pride. She rolled her eyes as she crept out the door. To think that she would feel proud after the simple act of putting on a dress! If this wasn't a sign that she had been pampered all her life, she didn't know what was.

The guards at the door saluted smartly as she walked by. Psyche nodded solemnly to them, but she was straining to keep back a puckish grin. Ever since the lecture she had given them, they had been even more rigid and soldierly than before. That lecture was the first time she had actually sounded like one of the royal blood! Psyche had even pulled off her mothers' best queenly stare before sweeping into her room and bursting into giggles.

She walked through the empty palace. It was built low-slung and sprawling, open to the sun and the breeze. The inhabitants of the palace rarely had reason to rue the airy structure, as the weather was warm all year round. Even in winter, it was only about as cool as late fall of neighboring kingdoms.

Of course, that just gave those fools more reason to treat her as a goddess.

Psyche frowned. She had reached the open courtyard now, the blue twilit morn somehow magnifying her troubles. The men, with their undue worship, were never too far from her mind. If only they would...go away! Didn't they realize how damaging they were making a once peaceful situation? When the poets were extolling her divine grace and whatnot, Psyche had no problem with it. In fact, she was even flattered! After all, beauty is a sign of divine favor. But when the it began escalating, that was when the problems started.

At first it had been a couple of lone men, written off as lovestruck suitors. Then it had been a whole group, treating her so reverently. Even then, it hadn't been anything worth of alarm. Psyche's parents had dealt with love-sickness before, with her older sisters, though not quite these many suitors.

And then that poet had come along-the one with the cunning eyes and the silver tongue. What his purpose might have been, she did not know. Perhaps he had thought that elevating Psyche to a goddess would put him in her favor.

Whatever his reasons, the poets had done in a matter of weeks what it had taken other mortals years to do: create a god. With his fancy words, and smooth, beautiful voice, he had captured the attentions of the entire court. Slowly, subtly, he had worked those attentions towards Psyche, casting her in a new light. A divine light. It wasn't long before the poets' goal was complete, and the men of the court knew her as a goddess, and a goddess only.

The frown deepened on Psyche's face. Those same men-and others as well, her revenue only seemed to increase-were going to bring about a catastrophe. If not by their own hand, then by anothers'. She could only hope that that hand wouldn't be one of a goddess.

Which was why she was out in the wee hours before the sun rose.

Pulling the hood of her cloak up over her face, Psyche hurried on. She wished that the temple was closer, but it was situated in the city proper, while the palace sprawled on the edges of it. The temple of Aphrodite was the only real temple nearby, which was fine, seeing as how she was the goddess most likely to react to this...development.

The city was barely stirring, reminding Psyche of how early it really was. She had never known the city to be ever calm, except for the hours just before the sunrise. After the streetwalkers and night revelers had gone to bed, and before the housewives come out to hang wet sheets or go to market, there was a still peace where she could walk to temple privately.

The temple of Aphrodite was elegant, beautiful, and as glitteringly adorned as the goddess herself. A dark entrance opened the way to a hallway, which in turn led to the inner temple, while the wings went on either side like gaping legs.

The priestesses shot Psyche dirty looks as she passed. They all knew of her 'usurpation' of their goddess. Neither they nor the guards would tell of her presence here, however.

After all, not all of Psyche's worshipers were as harmless as Damaskenos.

The inner sanctum loomed before, lit brightly by oil lanterns suspended by the ceiling. A scent like jasmine and honeysuckle lay heavy in the air. Across the floor were tiles of light-streaked dark grey marble, reminiscent of the sea that was Aphrodite's origin. And rising at the far end, was the goddess herself.

She was made of solid gold, and attended by the three Seasons in the form of maidens, painted in bright colors on the mural behind her. The mural was filled with swooping doves, flowers bursting into bloom, and loving couples. Several of the couples were in suggestive positions that made Psyche blush. Over it all, a golden arrow streaked through the air to an unknown target. And there in the corner, was the archer.

His hair were tight golden curls, his skin tanned bronze, and his eyes were a fierce, piercing blue. From his back, shining wings spread proudly and two slim quivers slung between them. The bow was polished ebony, a dull contrast to the blazing gold of the arrow fitted up to it.

All the stories Psyche had ever heard of Eros painted him as a merry mischiefmaker, yet his expression on the mural was so grim and serious, one shoulder slumped as if heavy under the weight of the quivers on his back.

Psyche turned her attention back to his mother. Shimmering and golden, she stood on her pedestal. Aphrodite's face looked suddenly...

No. That wasn't possible. Statues, not even statues of the gods and goddesses, do _not_ abruptly change their expression to one of indescribable cruelty and hatred. Psyche repressed a shiver.

She knelt on the floor, and lowered herself to full prostration.

"Aphrodite no koipos, Loveliest of All, hear my plea..." Psyche started.

It was mostly the same prayer she had every day, to forgive her followers for their transgression, and to not retaliate for this disrespect.

But she added a new request to her prayer, today.

A few weeks ago, her elder sisters had come to visit. Kalonice and Jacinta were married to princes of great wealth and would be Queens when the current Kings died. The three sisters had sat together in the gardens, chatting about their lives.

Kalonice and Jacinta seemed not to have understood why Psyche was so upset about the recent cult that has sprung up around her. Enjoy it while it lasts, they had told her. Soon those men will forget about you and you'll have to marry some wealthy, boring prince, as we had had to.

The problem with her sisters' advice was that Psyche had no suitors. Her followers seemed to have chased them all away. Psyche, face down on the ground, pulled a frown at that. In addition to possibly invoking the wrath of a goddess, they were ruining her chances of marriage!

Psyche barely stifled a snort at that. Incredible, really, that she should care alongside how irritating her cult was.

She finished her prayer and stood up, brushing her dress off. Walking out of the temple, she saw at once that her hopes of sneaking back to the palace were dashed. Helios's chariot was fully over the horizon, and the people were already walking the streets. Psyche sighed and resigned herself to a streetful of people bowing and scraping to her. Even those you didn't believe in her divinity were usually intimidated by Psyche's followers.

There was yet another problem the cult created: fear among the people.

About to step from the warm incense of the temple, Psyche felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned; it was the head priestess.

"Here." She shoved a drab cloak into Psyche's hands. "It would not do," the priestess explained to Psyche's questioning look, "To have you seen worshiping at the temple of Aphrodite."

Psyche nodded and accepted the cloak, feeling a chill as she did so. It wasn't out of respect for _her_ that the priestess was doing this courtesy, it was fear of the cult.

She put on the cloak and scurried through the streets, keeping her head down. Passing the open market, she heard snatches of conversation.

"..did you hear..?"

"They threatened the old farmer..."

"The Cult..."

"..beautiful as a goddess, they say.."

"It's heresy!"

"The Gods are already given."

"But the bards all talk of her..."

"..saw her once...she's radiant...an equal to Aphrodite, I'd say..."

Psyche shivered again, despite the morning heat. She bit her lip and walked faster. There was a lot on her mind.

-----

Teag was taking advantage of the relative coolness of the morning to cut some flowers. He had brought the drowsy Eumaeus (who was not an early riser) because his eyes weren't what they once were and sometimes he had trouble distinguishing an anemone and a tulip. Come to think of it, a rose looked rather like a tulip when it was in bud. So did a poppy, for that matter. So did...

Oh, forget it.

Teag glanced over at Eumaeus. He was half-asleep, eyelids drooping and his mouth slacked enough to catch flies. Young people. No discipline these days. He gently reached over and closed his jaw with a callused hand, then smacked him smartly on his skull. Eumaeus came awake with a start.

"Huh...what? What's going on? Teag?"

The senior gardener sighed. He considered lecturing Eumaeus on his sloppy regimen, then decided against it. In all the years since Eumaeus had come as an apprentice, back when Enea was still alive, never once had anyone succeeded in waking him completely up until just about noontide. Teag seriously doubted he would be the one who could.

Instead he asked,

"Which flowers do you think the queen will want?"

Rubbing his head, Eumaeus stared at Teag like he had just noticed him. Which, given his barely-alert state, was probably the case.

"...I dunno. She's the one that ordered them, wusnit?"

Teag could swear on the river Styx that his apprentice would honestly remain an adolescent forever.

"_No_, donkey-brain. It was the Gods on Olympus that asked for them, when I saw them by the fish pond. Who did you _think_ wanted the flowers, hmm?"

Eumaeus squinted at him blearily.

"Ya ge' more like m' mother every day, you know that, rih'?"

"Gods forbid I should ever be your mother. Mayhaps when you learn to speak proper language, you will no longer need your mother to visit every freeday to check on you."

It was worthless, taking Eumaeus to be his aid. He was as useless at this point of day as the blind old man Teag was. But all the good, hard-working, or even average apprentices had all been taken by other gardeners by the time he got there...You'd think, wouldn't you, that being a senior gardener would bring some benefits?

Behind him, Eumaeus reddened and grumbled under his breath.

Teag sighed and bent to cut a partly closed rose. At least, he hoped it was a rose. Teag snorted. Some gardener he was, too blind to tell the difference between a rose and a tulip!

'When in doubt, bring a rose' was a maxim Teag tried to live his life by. It worked on most women, so far. He twirled the flower in his hand, wincing as a thorn bit him on the thumb. Definitely a rose. Tulips were much nicer. He really didn't know why women liked roses so much.

Teag was about to cut another rose when he noticed Eumaeus looking a lot more awake than he had ever looked at midmorning.

Now that was definitely classed as a miracle. Or an act of a god. Whichever.

He looked in the direction Eumaeus was staring in so vividly. Approaching them was what appeared to be a golden blob in a pink robe. Teag squinted. The blob focused into a familiar figure.

"Psyche!" Teag roared, getting up to sweep her into a giant bear bug. "Thank Zeus you're here. Nothing like a pretty girl to wake up a regular sloth like him." He jerked his thumb towards Eumaeus, who blushed spectacularly. Well, at least there was one young male on the palace grounds who acted normally towards Psyche.

Who didn't seem to be much cheered by his greeting, her face drawn moodily. With an effort, she pulled the corners of her mouth up into something resembling a smile.

"Morning, Teag." Psyche said. She rubbed her back. "Since when did you grow thorns on your arms?"

Teag looked down on his arms and discovered a crushed rose stem in his left hand, the bud having popped off. The thorns hadn't even penetrated the thick layer of calluses on his hand. He showed Psyche the broken flower.

"Sorry lass." He flashed her a grin. "Waste of a good flower, if you ask me."

Psyche didn't smile, and her faux-smile started to slip. She stared at the damaged rose for a silent moment, and asked a sudden question.

"Can I have roses in my garden?"

Teag blinked. "Well," he began. "It's a bit late in the year to plant the seeds..."

"But you can just transplant some roses, right?"

Teag shuddered at the thought of moving all of those prickly, bristly monsters. But since when had he been able to refuse Psyche anything?

"Sure, Princess."

When she left, Teag and Eumaeus stared at each other, bewildered. Psyche had definitely been acting strangely.

-----

Acantha left the garden as soon as her mistress was out of sight. Gone chasing after some poor mortal stud, no doubt.

Technically, none of the nymphs were allowed to leave the garden. And if they weren't when Aphrodite was, well, there weren't any second chances with the goddess.

Acantha let none of this bother her, however. She would so have liked to leave Aphrodite's service forever. But for now, however much she hated to admit it, a goddess was much, much more powerful than a nymph. So in the meantime, these infrequent jaunts outside were all to sustain her.

She bullied a fellow captive (though _this_ nymph never thought of it like that) to warn her when Aphrodite approached. Terrified of her threats of beatings and of turning her loose among lustful centaurs, she kept a diligent watch every time Acantha went out. She was such a silly creature. If she wasn't in Aphrodite's protection, she'd no doubt have been raped by a satyr or a demigod long past, just like all the sister nymphs who shared her mentality.

Acantha was a rarity among nymphs, and gods as well, because she had wings. Delicate, translucent, beautiful wings that would fly her anywhere except away from her capturess. She had never seen her kin, or any other nymph like her. Now , she would never.

It was all her fault. Aphrodite.

Acantha had lived in the mountains. Open, high mounts where she could breathe the cold air and spread her wings in complete freedom and solitude. Where she could watch the eagles circle over their aeries in twisting dances, and drink in a spring that came from the Earth Mother's teat itself. There had been storms, glorious storms, where Acantha had stood on a steep precipice and felt the thunder shake the air around her.

It had all ended when the goddess came. She had come in glorious robes of gold, and on a litter borne by handsome fair-haired young men, though none were as fair as the goddess. At the spring, Acantha overheard her telling one of her attendant nymphs that she needed to get away from her husband, and the rest of Olympia.

Never having met any of the Pantheon, or any god for that matter, and being the fool that she was, Acantha had stepped out of hiding and demanded to know who she was.

Aphrodite had taken one look at her rare, rare wings and announced that she wanted the nymph to join her service.

And so she had, although she had been resistant, and so she had remained for nearly seven years.

Acantha pounded her fist against the wood of the oak she was perched on. She didn't even feel it, her hands built by a life in the mountains. This tree was as far from the garden as she dare go, since the nymph that would fetch her could only run on the ground.

As if her thoughts had summoned her, Acantha heard a panting on the ground below the tree.

"..The..Lady...is coming!" she said, as if her very presence didn't tell her that.

The nymph had curly golden hair, and white skin, and flowers strewn in her flaxen hair. In short, everything a nymph was that Acantha wasn't, with her straight dark hair and tanned skin.

What was the nymph's name? Eiran...Irene...Eirene, that was it. Eirene. A nice, meek, humble name. Not unlike the nymph herself. Unlike Acantha, with the sharp emphasis on in her name, with the sharp edge of intellect, with the speed of her wings to rush her away.

Eirene lifted her head towards Acantha, blue eyes wide and troubled. She was obviously worried that they wouldn't make it back to the garden before their mistress. Acantha knew there were some who chafed under the goddess, but they were few, and she doubted Eirene was one of them.

Acantha suddenly felt a sharp sting of pity run through her. Chained and bound hand and foot to a goddess when she could have been free, and the nymph was not angry, was not humiliated, did not even know she was unhappy.

She looked at Eirene with new eyes. Eirene had never flown among the mountain tops, never had herself and only herself as a master, as Acantha had. Did she have any right to judge Eirene and her like?

"Thank you, Eirene, for the warning." The nymph's jaw fell open in shock. This was the first time Acantha had ever spoken a kind word to her. "Let us go back to our mistress's garden."

As she flew over the trees, Eirene running on the ground to keep up, Acantha knew she had gained a new kind of freedom from today, and from the nymph Eirene.

She would never become like the others, and she would be more at fault for it then Eirene if she did, because Acantha had felt the cold air singing between her dragonfly wings, flying too fast for eagles to match or for mortal man to see.

Someday, she swore, she would live in the mountains again, and once again outfly the wild birds, and laugh in the face of a thunderstorm.

Someday, she would be free.

A/N: Gods I hate this chapter. The unofficial title is "The Curse of Chapter Two". That being said, I apoligize for a) it's length, and b) it's lateness. I tried to get it done like two weeks ago...but yeah. Life got in the way. shakes fist

Reviews: Manna:Writer: Israelites. Pardon the Biblical reference.


	4. Arrow

Ugh...Finally!  
Yeah...I write slow.

Right right. Standard Disclaimer

-----

Some time ago, Eros had once tried to shoot his mother with one of his arrows. He had succeeded, of course, the infamous Arrows of Love would work on anything. Eros failed to remember who he had made Aphrodite fall in love with, some pretty boy bastard child. The goddess had fallen immediately in love with him, and immediately incurred the wrath of Ares, her lover at the time, on the boy.

If Eros had desired for Aphrodite's heart to be broken, he certainly did a bad job of it. His mother had simply gone weeping to Zeus, and just like that, she was reunited with her lover for most of the year.

Aphrodite didn't even pay much attention to him for that time. Not more than she paid to any other lover, anyway.

It was scary, in a way. The power of his arrows could only go as far as the victim's capacity for love. Eros knew his arrows had less effect on Gods, but Aphrodite had truly a chance for true love, and she tossed it away like the many toys she had made out of men over the years.

Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, had no true feeling for love.

There was irony in that, or something like it.

-----

Psyche sat at her parents' breakfast table and tried desperately to look attentive. It was no use. The smell of freshly-picked roses kept distracting her and sending her off into fantastical daydreams.

She took a moment to admire the roses on the table. That must have been what Teag and Eumaeus had been doing this morning. Picking flowers. How delightful, she wished she could pick flowers.

Psyche took a mouthful of some food absentmindedly. She heard twin snorts of surprise across from her. Psyche looked up, surprised in turn. It wasn't every day a royal did something as undignified as snorting, especially Psyche's parents.

They were both staring at her. Psyche absently wondered how long they had been doing that.

Finally, her mother spoke.

"Psyche...Is everything okay?"

"Are _you_ okay?" The King cut in.

Bemused, Psyche looked from one parents' face to the other.

"...I'm fine, Mother, Father. Why would anything be wrong?"

The Queen and King glanced at each, then resumed staring at Psyche.

"I'm not sure how to phrase this, sweetie..." The King started. "But you _have_ been eating your food..."

Psyche looked down on her plate. Her fork was firmly stuck into a rubbery coil of flesh. Round suckers trailed down the side.

Grilled octopus. How _disgusting_. And she had been eating it, even worse.

Psyche pushed the plate away. Across the table her parents were in whispered conference.

"Well, Meropentra, you were the one who wanted her to try new foods..."

"She's not _well_!"

"Than what do you expect me to do!"

"Let her rest, lummox! She can't possibly meet those merchants in her condition!"

Psyche smiled wryly. Since when did eating octopus mean that she was sick? Although, granted, it was unusual for her...

Then another part of her mother's statement snapped into place in her mind.

_Meet the merchants!_

Suddenly, Psyche truly did feel sick. For certain reasons, she no longer had any desire to appear in the public. Even a closed chamber would be unappealing.

"Mother, Father." she said in a loud voice that cut through her parents' argument. "I feel sick. Very, very sick. May I go take a nap?"

Both pairs of eyes immediately turned to her and softened.

"Of course you may, sweet." Her father told her, while her mother nodded, saving the 'I told you so' to her husband for later.

Psyche trudged up the stairs to her chamber. A nap would be wonderful. In addition to the sick feeling in her stomach, she had developed a pounding headache since earlier that morning.

She tried to think of what she should do with the rest of the day, but truthfully, she just wanted to go to sleep and wake up until the fall started. Besides, there really wasn't much for Psyche to do anyway, besides laze in the gardens.

Psyche reached her chambers. The door-guards saluted as she passed, and Psyche managed to nod in return, although her full-blown headache threatened to make her faint. She just barely got into the bedchamber and collapse on the mattress before sleep overcame her.

-----

Eros flew, invisible. He did not spend any arrows on the sudden fits of love or indifference that usually marked his path. He had a job to do, and he intended to be done with it as quick as possible.

Eros felt sick inside. There was no use protesting against the unfairness of Aphrodite's decision; he could no more resist the power of his mother than mortals could his arrows. Better just to simply do it and try to forget it later.

It took little effort to learn what had upset Aphrodite so. The worshipers of the mortal woman was the talk on everyone's lips. The only thing he hadn't learned about the woman was her name.

He shook his head. This was why Aphrodite wanted Eros to ruin the girls' life? She was only mortal, in a short time she would be dead. But then again, most of the Olympian would react such to this 'insult'. Aphrodite simply had the power to do it.

Another reason to steer clear of the Olympian Gods.

The palace wasn't exactly hard to find. It was the largest, grandest, richest building in the area. Harder to find was the girl. Eros flew over the gardens where he had seen the girl in the mirror, but the gardeners were all that there were. Definitely male.

Beating his golden wings, he turned back to the palace. Of course, the princess would want to spend the day in the relative coolness of her chambers. Based on the arrangement of most palaces he had seen so far, the royal family's rooms would be on the south side.

Sure enough, as soon as Eros flew to the south wall, he saw her. The girl was fast asleep in the chambers on the south-east corner. He took a deep breath and alighted soundlessly on the window.

Eros slowly drew a golden arrow from one of the twin quivers on his back. His bow would be useless at such close range. He would sink the arrow into her heart by hand, then dip it into the bitter waters of the river Acheron of Hades. Then he would shoot it into the heart of the vilest wretch he could find. Eros already had a target for that, a brutal mercenary with several wives in separate locations.

The godling leapt silently to the floor. He rose, and took a moment to admire the sleeping maiden. She really was beautiful. Eros suddenly had an overwhelming desire to brush those perfect lips with his. He shook his head to dispel the feeling. It was better not to think of her at all.

Eros steadied the arrow in his hand and poised it over the girls' heart. He bit his lip. The sooner he did it, the sooner it was over. Eros applied pressure to the arrow.

The golden arrow began to pierce the soft breast.

-----

Psyche dreamt.

She was in a great hall. There was a wonderful, raucous party going on. There were Gods and Goddesses, nymphs giggled at satyrs, centaurs and minotaurs clomped across the tiles. Kalonice and Jacinta swept by on each others arm, laughing, while their husbands trooped diligently after them. Psyche's mother and father started an impromptu dance, looking younger than they had for years. Soon the rest of the party joined in, the men leading the women in.

Psyche stood by herself next to a stone pillar, smiling and looking out over the festivities fondly. But soon, a young man in a bird mask offered his hand to her. His hair was tousled and blonde, and his chest was bare. Psyche laughed and allowed herself to be lead into the dance.

The young man swung her around lightly, hands at her waist. Psyche flew through the air, the wind whipping her hair around. She couldn't remember the last time she had had so much fun. The man with the bird mask set her down on the ground, and gracefully disappeared. Before Psyche could start to look for him, however, another man, an older river-god this time, was offering her his arm.

And so time flew, Psyche breezing from partner to partner, in a hurricane of sudden, wild dances. She didn't even feel dizzy. She felt glorious and energetic, like she could dance all night.

Then there was, suddenly, silence. A dark, brooding presence had entered the hall, one that Psyche hadn't realized before. It took a single step from the end of the hall.

As if pulled by some unnameable force, the many people took themselves a single step back, leaving a clear path two paces thick down the center of the hall, leading straight to Psyche, who alone was not affected.

It took another step forward. Psyche could see it clearly, every dark outline defined sharply. The handsome satyr she had been dancing with let go of her hands and blended into the crowd.

Another step. Psyche suddenly felt a inexplicable, horrible fear descend upon her. If nothing else, she knew that the dark being before her meant death. She stood rooted to the ground in horror.

Another step. She found her legs again, but when she tried to step back, she discovered a hard wall behind her where there had been none. There was no running away, nothing to do but wait.

A step closer. Back to the wall, Psyche trembled. How much distance had the monster covered? How far away was she from it?

The sixth step. Psyche knew, suddenly, without knowing how she knew, that when the seventh step fell, the monster would reach her. She cringed in fear.

The foot lifted. And then, slowly, as if all of Psyche's fear and anguish was pushing up on it, it descended back to the ground.

And the monster was there, in front of her. It was huge, looming over her by at least three heads. The body was made of a thick, black mud-like substance, and the eyes were marked only by the way they reflected no light whatsoever.

The creature reached out its' arm to touch Psyche's shoulder, who shrank back in fear. The wall was behind her, however, and there was nowhere to run to. The great slimy hand made contact with Psyche's arm, and she noted with surprise that the substance covering it was soothing and warm to the touch. It was constantly in motion, as if it was a separate entity from the body. Psyche was suddenly struck with the idea that it was a disguise, a cloak perhaps, to mask the true nature of the beast...?

It grabbed her other arm painfully, and pressed her against the wall. Unlike before, however, Psyche was not struck by fear. Her spirit seemed to detach itself from the great hall, getting more and more distant as the creature pressed itself closer and closer to her body. And just as the beast was letting loose a bellow of triumph, her spirit took her somewhere different altogether.

She sat in a sun-drenched garden. The sun was beating down on her body in hard rods, and Psyche remembered dimly that she should be wearing a head scarf for a day this hot, then realized that it didn't matter. She laughed to know that nothing that would have mattered in the world made any difference in this garden. Psyche was startled to hear a rumbling chuckle join her laughter, however.

There was a man kneeling on the ground, lean and sinewy and grey. All over his body he was grey. The hair on top his head, which grew in a little hedge at the back, and his short, bristly mustache, even his tanned skin was approaching grey. His grey eyes sparkled as he looked Psyche up and down.

"Well, my little flower, you sure have grown since last I laid eyes on you. Seems more like a full bloomed rose than a bud now, and a beautiful one at that." he said, sitting back on his heels. "How have you been, Psyche?"

"Where are we, Enea?" she asked. The garden they sat in was certainly a strange one, the flowers growing a concentric circles that kept spiraling on and on and far as she could see.

Enea cast her a strange look. "What do you mean, where are we? We're in the garden of Chloris, Psyche! Didn't I always tell you I would make it here?"

Psyche nodded. "Yes...I suppose you did..."

"You suppose?" Enea laughed. "Well, here I am now, in the garden of the Goddess herself. And," he said, "I'll show you the immortal flowers, that only ever grow in the lands of the Gods."

"Where are they, then, these flowers of yours?" Psyche asked.

"Where are they! Why, all around you, girl. You are sitting among never-dying flowers of legend."

Psyche couldn't particularly remember any immortal flowers in any legend, but it didn't seem to matter, when she could see the truth of these flowers for her own eyes. They were in all shapes, roses and lilies and flowering vines, but they all were brightest gold. The field of blooms was so radiant that Psyche wondered why she hadn't noticed it before. Then something odd struck her.

"They have no scent!" she cried. "Why do these flowers have no scent?"

Enea looked sad suddenly, and weary, his eyes full of pity as he looked at her.

"So you are truly not here then." he murmured, not intending for Psyche to hear. But Psyche's ears, suddenly unusually sharp, caught the words.

"What do you mean when you say I am not here? Of course I am here, where else would I-" The words were cut off by a sharp pain in her chest. It felt like someone was stabbing her in the heart. Then, as quick as it had come, it was gone, replaced by a warm feeling like molten sunlight infusing into her veins.

Psyche looked up at Enea, confused with her hand still at her heart.

"I'm sorry, Enea. But it just felt like-"

He cut her off. "You must go back now, child. Go back, before a tragedy befalls you."

"But, Enea! What do you mea-"

"Go back, Psyche! _Now!_"

And then everything in her vision streaked to gold, and Psyche woke up with a pounding heart and wrenching feeling in her gut.

-----

Eros withdrew the arrow from the girls' breast. The wound that it had made was closing up smoothly after it. Funny, really, that something this disastrous would leave no mark or scar.

He stood. Eros had wreaked his share of chaos in his lifetime, but this...this _crime_ would stay as a lead weight on his conscience for a long time. There was something dirty about inflicting such a punishment on this pure, beautiful girl for so petty an offense.

Well. That was the first step over with. There were two more steps to go, and the task he had been charged with wouldn't get any easier. It was time to go.

No sooner had Eros spread his wings when the girl on the bed opened her eyes.

-----

Psyche opened her eyes, afternoon sunlight helping to dispel the last of the dream. Goodness, had she really slept this long? It had been midmorning when she had laid down for a nap, and now it was evening.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. There was whisper of air on the right of the bed, and Psyche turned her head sharply. She eyed the empty space between the bed and the cabinet suspiciously. Odd. Psyche could have sworn she heard something move.

Standing up, she found to her dismay that her gown was wrinkled all over, since she had slept in it. It would have to be starched and washed, a complete waste of water in this heavily hot spring. Psyche pulled off the sea-green gown that she had put on this morning for breakfast.

Again that whisper of air. She frowned at the cabinet. Was there perhaps a mouse in the chambers? She hoped not. The maids lost their wits at the sight of mice.

Donning a long tunic with a wide belt, Psyche strode out of her room. There was that flurry of air again as she was opening the door, this time right above her. A bird? Psyche looked up. Nothing but air. A bee, perhaps.

Looking down one corridor, she saw Damaskenos coming down it, peering into a guest room. What was worse, he had Telymetros with him.

-----

Sweet Chaos. Those eyes- they were so..._beautiful_...

Pale blue jewels watched Eros as he fell, shocked, barely catching himself on the floor. He heard his arrow break with a sudden snap as it hit the floor. Then, the next moment, he felt a dizzying tingling sensation running up and down his body, like a blazing fire in place of his blood. The feeling did not fade, but lingered in his veins. His heart was beating unnaturally fast, and there was a queasy feeling in his stomach. It felt like his insides were twisting around each other.

Eros looked down on the hand he had used to break his fall. Something glinted from his palm. He nearly swooned as he saw what it was.

The golden arrowhead was imbedded deeply into his flesh.

Oh shit.

-----

He watched her rise. She was so perfectly beautiful. The skin was so white and flawless-the limbs so graceful. He did not know why he hadn't taken more time to admire her while she was sleeping.

She slipped out of her gown, and Eros gasped. He knew he shouldn't be looking at her bare body, but he couldn't stop. Not on his own, anyway. But then those eyes snapped his way, and his own eyes were caught in hers, drowning in them, and he forgot he was invisible, he forgot he was a god and she a mortal, and there was nothing in the world except the two of them-

But them she turned away, leaving Eros still lying dejected on the floor, and she started to dress. She belted herself, and tossed her hair back, a motion like wind flowing through grain fields. Then she opened the door to go out.

Eros forced himself into action. He would follow her out that door, but he couldn't stay with her long. There were many things to know of her; her name, for one.

-----

Guilio had been sweeping the floors at the royal palace for seventeen years. Despite his name, he was anything but young. Guilio was far past his prime, and his first wife had died twelve years ago.

He thought he would never survive his dear Melitta's death. But he had, and recently, the milkmaid that lived in the country had caught his eye and his heart. She was a sweet young thing, and had forever rejected him out of hand, never seeing past his graying beard and wrinkled hands.

He was sweeping the main corridor off the great hall. The only comfort to his aching joints was that he was nearly done.

A voice began to whisper in his ear. Normally, he would count a disembodied voice a sign of insanity. But Guilio did not panic, something about that voice calmed him. It promised him the love of his fair milkmaid if he would but whisper the name of the princess who lived here into the air.

Without a second thought for the strangeness of it, Guilio spoke the name his mysterious guest had demanded.

A moment later, Guilio headed for the country without any recollection of the last few seconds, only a vague thought to press his suit once again.

-----

Aphrodite yawned. It had been such an absolutely boring day. She hadn't had much luck with her current game, the prince of Athens. Hippolytus, or some such. He had the most darling hair, though, curling locks and all.

The prince had struck up a conversation with her, thinking her a mortal huntswoman, but had soon broke it off, seeming uninterested in her looks. Aphrodite was intrigued. Those followers of Artemis really did know how to put up a resistance. She was confident in her charms, however. He would be hers, in the end.

Losing interest in her current thoughts, she turned her mind to her other project.

That girl, Psyche. Her son would have found them by now. Eros could find anyone and anything. It was a little scary, in a way.

The goddess gestured her attendant nymph to her side. It was the dragonfly-winged one, she noticed. It was really too bad the girl was so sullen. The wings really were fascinating.

"Go find Eros. Tell him to report to me, with all possible speed."

-----

A/N: So what did you think? Good? Bad? Posted too slow, and too long? Yeah, I think so too.

Well anyways, thanks to all my wonderful reviewers for my last chapter, Anei Aikouka, Veronica The Mischievous, and Monito! Keep it up! This may sound corny, but they actually do inspire me to write.

Until next chapter-which may be a long time away, at my pace- See ya!

Bluer Sky


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